Norton, Thomas / Sackville, Thomas · published 1570 · first performed or written 1562 [Jan 18] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 504 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Ah love, my friends? love wrongs not whom he loves. Ne yet he wrongeth you, that giveth you So large a reign, ere that the course of time Bring you to kingdom by descended right, Which time perhaps might end your time before. Is this no wrong, say you, to reave from me My native right of half so great a realm? And thus to match his younger son with me In equal power, and in as great degree? Yea and what son? the son whose swelling pride Would never yield one point of reverence, When I the elder and apparent heir Stood in the likelihood to possess the whole, Yea and that son which from his childish age Envieth mine honour and doth hate my life. What will he now do, when his pride, his rage, The mindful malice of his grudging heart, Is armed with force, with wealth, and kingly state? Was this not wrong, yea ill advised wrong, To give so mad a man so sharp a sword, To so great peril of so great mishap, Wide open thus to set so large a way? Alas my Lord, what griefful thing is this, That of your brother you can think so ill? I never saw him utter likely sign, Whereby a man might see or once misdeem Such hate of you, ne such unyelding pride. Ill is their counsel, shameful be their end, That raising such mistrustful fear in you, Sowing the seed of such unkindly hate, Travail by treason to destroy you both. Wise is your brother, and of noble hope, Worthy to weld a large and mighty realm. So much a stronger friend have you thereby, Whose strength is your strength, if you 'gree in one. If nature and the Gods had pinched so Their flowing bounty, and their noble gifts Of princely qualities, from you my Lord, And powered them all at ones in wasteful wise Upon your father's younger son alone: Perhaps there be that in your prejudice Would say that birth should yield to worthiness. But sith in each good gift and princely art You are his match, and in the chief of all In mildness and in sober governance You far surmount: And sith there is in you Sufficing skill and hopeful towardness To wield the whole, and match your elders praise: I see no cause why ye should lose the half. Ne would I wish you yield to such a loss: Jest your mild sufferance of so great a wrong, Be deemed cowardish and simple dread: Which shall give courage to the fiery head Of your young brother to invade the whole. While yet therefore sticks in the people's mind The loathed wrong of your disheritance, And ere your brother have by settled power, By guile full cloak of an alluring show, Got him some force and favour in the realm, And while the noble Queen your mother lives, To work and practise all for your avail, Attempt redress by arms, and wreak yourself
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Ah loue, my frendes? loue wrongs not whō he loues. Ne yet he wrongeth you, that geueth you So large a reigne, ere that the course of time Bring you to kingdome by discended right, Which time perhaps might end your time before. Is this no wrong, say you, to reaue from me My natiue right of halfe so great a realme? And thus to matche his yonger sonne with me In egall power, and in as great degree? Yea and what sonne? the sonne whose swelling pride Woulde neuer yelde one poinct of reuerence, Whan I the elder and apparaunt heire Stoode in the likelihode to possesse the whole, Yea and that sonne which from his childish age Enuieth myne honour and doth hate my life. What will he now do, when his pride, his rage, The mindefull malice of his grudging harte, Is armed with force, with wealth, and kingly state? Was this not wrong, yea yll aduised wrong, To giue so mad a man so sharpe a sworde, To so great perill of so great missehappe, Wide open thus to set so large a waye? Alas my Lord, what griefull thing is this, That of your brother you can thinke so ill? I neuer saw him vtter likelie signe, Whereby a man might see or once misdeme Such hate of you, ne such vnyelding pride. Ill is their counsell, shamefull be their ende, That raysing such mistrustfull feare in you, Sowing the seede of such vnkindly hate, Trauaile by treason to destroy you both. Wise is your brother, and of noble hope, Worthie to welde a large and mightie realme. So much a stronger frende haue you therby, Whose strength is your strength, if you gree in one. If nature and the Goddes had pinched so Their flowing bountie, and their noble giftes Of princelie qualities, from you my Lorde, And powrde them all at ones in wastfull wise Upon your fathers yonger sonne alone: Perhappes there be that in your preiudice Would say that birth should yeld to worthinesse. But sithe in eche good gift and princelie arte Ye are his matche, and in the chiefe of all In mildenesse and in sobre gouernaunce Ye farre surmount: And sith there is in you Sufficing skill and hopefull towardnesse To weld the whole, and match your elders prayse: I see no cause why ye should loose the halfe. Ne would I wisshe you yelde to such a losse: Lest your milde sufferaunce of so great a wronge, Be deemed cowardishe and simple dreade: Which shall geue courage to the fierie head Of your yonge brother to inuade the whole. While yet therfore stickes in the peoples minde The lothed wrong of your disheritaunce, And ere your brother haue by settled power, By guile full cloke of an alluring showe, Got him some force and fauour in the realme, And while the noble Queene your mother lyues, To worke and practise all for your auaile, Attempt redresse by armes, and wreake your self